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Lived most of my adult life in central Scotland. Worked for short spells in Colorado USA, Germany, and Norfolk; and for longer spells in Dorset and Kent. The love of my life is writing historical fiction, with a splash of the modern world thrown in. Oh, and of course, all the adventures provided through my interests.

Tuesday, 16 February 2010

Two mysterious men rudely interrupt an unassuming writer at his front door; at least one of them has a gun. He is dragged screaming and kicking into a scenario that involves blackmail, murder, Triads, Iranians and atomic bombs...

The Excerpt

I opened the front door and saw two men in black suits, white shirts and dark ties standing looking at me. Oh no, not Mormons again, I thought; I saw their mates three months ago and it took me fifteen minutes to get rid of them! One of the men was above average height with dark, unruly hair and the sort of strong clean-cut features that made me think he was an athlete. His friend was slightly smaller and stocky, like an American wrestler, with a small scar running across his forehead. These were not your usual Mormons!
‘Yes gents, what can I do for you?’ I asked, looking them straight in the eye.
‘We’d like to talk to you for a few minutes, please,’ replied the first man, with a sharp look and standing as rigid as a statue.
‘What about?’
‘It would be better if we came inside, so that we can talk in private,’
‘No! It took me half an hour to get rid of you lot the last time.’ I was about to close the door when the second man spoke, his voice as sharp as a laser.
‘Mr McKay, we need to speak to you…now!’
‘How do you know my name?’ I felt his eyes piercing me, he was silent. They flashed official looking identity badges, but I did not see them properly. ‘Please let me see them in my hand.’
‘OK,’ said the first man grudgingly coming forward holding the cards at a long arm length and keeping a close eye on my dogs, ‘but please keep them back!’
I looked at the cards. These guys are from MI5 and the Secret Intelligence Service, SIS. What are they doing in Scotland and what could they possibly want from me?
‘They look official, but as we all know with identity theft uppermost in everyone’s minds these days I’ll need to check you out, so I’ll take them inside and phone the number on your cards.’
‘Is that necessary?’ said the statue.
‘My dogs think so, do you disagree with them?’ The dogs were still snarling and baring their teeth.
‘No!’ was the super fast response. ‘Please feel free.’
I had them on the back foot, and ran upstairs two steps at a time and phoned what could have been an MI5 office. Within three rings I was speaking to a nicely spoken young woman. ‘Hello, how can I help you?’ was her friendly opening phrase, she sounded as though she was next-door, not 350 miles away.